


The Serpent

by DaughterofProspero



Category: Macbeth - Shakespeare, SHAKESPEARE William - Works
Genre: Ambition, Evil Plans, Marriage, POV First Person, Plans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 21:18:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5800453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaughterofProspero/pseuds/DaughterofProspero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The raven himself is hoarse<br/>That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan<br/>Under my battlements. Come, you spirits<br/>That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here,<br/>And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full<br/>Of direst cruelty! make thick my blood;<br/>Stop up the access and passage to remorse,<br/>That no compunctious visitings of nature<br/>Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between<br/>The effect and it..."</p><p>Lady Macbeth has waited her whole life for this moment.<br/>Today, Lady. Tomorrow, Queen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Serpent

I am not one to settle for less than I am owed.

Glory does not come to those who are weak, content to rest in an unmarked grave when their time comes. The disciplined, the patient, the ambitious – we are the ones whom fortune finds.

My childhood was one of perfect posture and absolute obedience. Like any Lady I began life as a child, then girl, then woman. Lady was never guaranteed. Lady is the reward for tongue biting and teeth clenching and simpering. One of many diamonds in the rough, I polished my edges until I was a cut above the rest, the prize jewel of my family - taking care to hide my less desirable facets. No one wants an ambitious wife. Nevertheless, that is what I was. And am.

I didn’t shape myself into some nubile trophy so I could spend the rest of my life chained to a dozen children and needlepoint tapestries. I would bide my time until coyness was no longer an asset and then: Strike. That was my wedding day. After the ceremony my demureness vanished, locked outside the bedchamber I entered an assumed virgin, and left a Lady.

When I was married it was the third day of non-stop rain. My dress was damp, both it and my veil clinging to my skin the oppressive humidity. A hoard of servants surrounded me, keeping my hem from the murky soup that covered the ground. With my ivory skirt pulled out in seven different directions I must have looked like some sort of seraphim, only the servants stopping me from ascending skyward.

Thunder shook the pews as I walked past them up the aisle. I saw my husband for the first time, then – Thane of Glamis who started when the next clap from above drowned out our vows. He covered the flinch well, it was only a mild suggestion of fright, but he was holding my hand, poised to claim it with a ring, and I felt him jump. He could not see me smile under my veil. _I can work with this_ , I thought.

He was a pliable man – too easy to surprise. (We were married for months before I let on that I could read.) Not without an edge, thank God or I would’ve gone out of my mind. Battle was where he showed this darker nature. Animal cries rang out as he dueled with straw men, and lightly armoured dummies in the courtyard. When he had sparring partners he would return panting, hulking, and hot-blooded – his voice a rough rumble I could drink in all day.

The first time he was sent away to fight I did not cry. A foreboding gloom had captured our castle with endless sources from every direction bearing the news that this was a mighty foe. Only My Lord could lead the charge but even he, it seemed, was marching towards his grave. I would not cry and the servants soon learned to keep their doubting mouths shut in my presence. I have not killed men but I am not afraid to strike them. It may have been my iron will and fist alone that brought him back but against the odds he returned. My Lazarus back from the dead and I the dog who gladly licked his wounds.

All this soon became a routine. Our time filled with indulgent frivolities until another summons to the battlefield left me alone for weeks on end, pretending to take interest in needlepoint and books I’d read a hundred times already. This contented me for a while – but still I waited. For a sign. Confirmation from above of what I knew to be true: I deserve more.

And here it is. In my hands. A weathered letter, a fairy tale in nature, nothing short of a miracle. These “weird sisters” the answers to my prayers. I hear my husband’s heavy steps on the stone stairs, his laboured breathing heralding the basso timbre to come. I am already unfastening my dress as plans begin to incubate within my pregnant mind.

I am not one to settle for less than I am owed.

I will have my crown.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. :)


End file.
